Arcana: Lost Remnants
by Shorty Bae
Summary: A mysterious organization pursuing lost artifacts of power clash with a young woman and her guild in the wake of their campaign.


The fist of a soldier cut through the distance in frightened desperation only to be caught by the towering man with relative ease. The man's grip crushed the soldier's hand, causing his face to contort as he writhed in pain and awaited his own demise. There had been others before him, the room of the keep decorated with bodies of his fallen brethren, but they too were helpless before the imposing figure. The one-sided encounter was coming to an end, and any remaining defense seemed futile. An easy toss sealed the deal, and the soldier's body soared across the room forcefully impacting a decorative sconce. Spurts of blood spewed instantly from his mouth as the wall feature impaled him and the look of horror lingered on his features. The blank canvas painted with blood, trickling down the walls and pooling on the floor, but it's artist was unmoving at the scene.

The silence was broken, slow clapping echoing throughout the room and bouncing off the walls.

From atop the stairs that lead to a throne stood another man, pretentious and adorned in items that flaunted wealth. The unwarranted confidence oozed from his person even in the face of an intruder. The fallen soldiers only obstacles for him to step over as he descended dramatically tossing his cape behind him. A self-given crown was on display, the middle piece shimmering and catching not only the light but the towering man's undivided attention. The lord thought of the soldiers as general help, bottom feeders and their defeat didn't warrant concern. However, the man before him was well dressed, insinuating he appreciated the more exceptional things in life — something he could use to his advantage and so, a reason to negotiate. As both arms lifted at his sides, he motioned towards their surroundings and paused his decent.

"I see you took it upon yourself to redecorate," The lord of the town spoke up, a smug look on his features as he continued. "I, Lord Dalison could use someone of your skill set, and of course, I'd make it worth your while when it comes to compensation." Once the lord finished he was answered with silence. There was no indication if the man in question would respond or not, the stillness causing uneasiness and once the lord thought he would break, the noise of boots colliding against marble sounded out. The intruder taking a step forward and even the simple movement from the man demanded absolute attention.

"Hand over the fragment," The voice was deep, authoritative and boomed throughout the room. There was a pause before the imposing man continued, his voice exuding an excessive amount of confidence on the matter without effort. "Or you'll suffer the same fate as your men." He finished, short and to the point. Dalison had been taken aback, the blatant disrespect and lack of acknowledgment for his position wasn't something he was accustomed too. In reaction, the corner of his mouth curled in disapproval and disgust, but he regained composure with a clearing of his throat. The situation was laughable at best, unheard of, causing the rebuttal and he laughed light-heartedly. "Oh, Sir." His voice dripped in sarcasm. "Was that a threat to someone of my stature? Surely, you jest. Don't grovel once I teach you a lesson." Within seconds, lightning erupted from Dalison's being, consuming his form and creating an outline that flickered. The aura emitted an attempt of intimidation, and yet, the other remained unphased by the display of magical prowess.

The lack of reaction justified an impression of insolence, and with surging rage, the lord acted. As the lighting swelled, he disappeared and reappeared at the man's side. A flurry of fists infused with the magical property went flying, triumphantly making an impact with their target and Dalison remained on the move. Sparks flew, the area consumed in an impressive amount of energy, and yet, as he moved around the imposing figure it was noted he hadn't budged. A magic seal manifested beneath the enemy, yellow in color and within seconds, a burst of lightning emerged and devoured the intruder's form. The light show causing cockiness to be on full display, feet landing not far off, and head tilted backward. "That'll show you to disrespect me."

The scene grand, the execution perfection, success expected for his caliber and yet, one detail was missing; the man's screams. As the lightning roared on shielding the invader from sight and undoubtedly inflicting pain, the offensive magic was the only sound. "You needn't hold back, release your anguish and I will end your suffering swiftly. After all, I, Lord Dalison, am a merciful man." He bragged, lips curling further into a wicked, but smug grin. A hand lifted, another assault imminent, fingers preparing themselves to snap with attitude and summon another seal. There was a pause of hesitation, the act hadn't been done yet, and he laughed when it dawned on him. "Allow me to bear witness to your current state, though. What do they say? There is no point beating a dead horse. What a shame, no wonder you weren't screaming."

With current seal ending, the magic summoned by it dissipated and gradually revealed the intruder's status. A flood of emotions coming with it, confusion, shock, and panic. The events that transpired thus far repeating, repeating in the Lord's mind and yet, he couldn't grasp the idea. Lord Dalison, although a braggart, was not one easily written off and had a similar ability to that of an S class mage. 'H-How is this possible?!' Dalison thought, the arrogance shown deteriorated within seconds of witnessing the outcome, and uncertainty reared its head. The intruder hadn't moved, hadn't utilized magic, hadn't done anything and even so, not a scratch.

Thoughts raced, attempts to grasp the situation continued and no matter where his mind ended up, he remained frazzled. The man in question belatedly unveiled his aura, the mere sight of it daunting, and the room became overwhelmed by the immense magical force. In a moment of clarity, eyes widened, head lifted, and lips parted to speak. "Are you even hum—" He tried but was abruptly cut off. Within the period of panic, the imposing figure had crossed the short distance and reached out. A hand covered Dalison's shocked face, swallowing him in immediate darkness and lifting him off the ground. The increased pressure crushing his temples, causing eyes to bulge and screams to echo out. Dalison's hands raised, desperately gripping the man's forearms as the intensity gradually ramped up and yet, to no avail. The cries became louder, louder, and eventually, a crushed skull resulted in nothing. The music of agony ceased, hands falling causing the Lord to dangle lifelessly before the man and like all trash, was discarded with simple movement.

A thud sounded out as the corpse of the foolish man collided harshly with the marble floors; a recurring theme in the room. The broken crown that slipped off in the fall reached the ground soon after with a clang, attention lured once more, and it shimmered in the light. "These men paid the price for following a clown." The low, gruff voice announced to no one while kneeling beside the ornament. With care, the towering man removed the glowing jewel from the crown and held it between two fingers as a unique power radiated from it. "To not understand how to unlock its power...truly is a waste." The piece in question stored within a pocket for safekeeping, the man, standing to full-height turned, not bothering to gaze upon the massacre left in his wake and stormed towards the doors.

The town struck with fear, the sounds of horror from within coming through walls and filling the ears of many. A squad clad in uniforms of red, gold and white lined the streets sharing the same symbol and purpose while they awaited further instruction from superiors. Those with residence in the town were kept outside, standing as if on trial and grouped per the system of men and women with children. Families separated, crushing the false sense of security once felt and causing uneasiness among them. At the stairs of the main building three distinct individuals lingered, each in respectively different attire from the rest and singling rank. On the right stood a broad man in armor with a sword on hip, and at his side stood a smaller, dainty woman with staff and almost religious cloth attire. Opposite of them lounged another, sprawled out on the banister, hands crossed behind his head and inconsistent from the rest. A red trench coat with gold and silver adornments hid most, like the peculiar mask that covered his face.

Soon after the noises ceased wooden doors opened to reveal the victor of the conflict, and not a soul dared to speak in the overbearing presence. A pair of white gloves equipped, finishing off the proper and elegant vibe while he descended the remaining stairs. "Renault." The voice boomed out with authority, and with the single word, the man in armor stepped forward to walk at his side, but a step behind. "I trust the two of you can handle this."


End file.
